


The Makings of Something Great

by Cup_of_Lou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Louis, But whatever, Happy-go-Lucky Niall, Its basically a oneshot in multiple chapters, M/M, Mysterious Zayn, Sporty Liam, cause im lazy, normal harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cup_of_Lou/pseuds/Cup_of_Lou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is an Artist. He had paint ingrained in his nail beds and his soul had treads of color, his heart burdened with abstract feelings only shown through that of a brush stroke. But he was missing his muse, his inspiration. In comes Harry Styles with neon shorts and blazing eyes, and Louis can finally see why Van Gogh painted flowers.</p>
<p>(With Zayn as the smoking, advice giving art groupie, Liam as the athletic smoothie dude-pro-pal, and Niall as the beer-happy Irishman that kind of just shows up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of it All

“I am an artist.” He whispered, the brush limp in one hand while the palate was sturdy in the other. He continued to scan over the canvas, the blankness of the stretched cloth burning his eyes as he tried to rack together what he was even trying to paint in the first place.

“I am an artist.” His voice tried the words warily. He shook his head, dropping the brush and palette onto the floor without a second thought. Paint splattered over the sheet that covered his hardwood floor, painting the already flawed fabric.

But that could wait, he thought with even more emotion bubbling out of his pores, because he was an artist. And artists have time, thats one of the few things all artists share. Time. Everything else is a variable.

“I am a bloody artist without a fucking muse." He mumbled to no one, rubbing his hands over his pants before pulling out his phone and dialing the familiar number. He hit the numbers with memorized precision. He was an artist. And artists, all of them, have their back-up plan.

“Hello?” With a glance at the clock, he noted that it wasn’t too late into the night. So he didn’t feel quite as bad for hearing the grogginess filling Zayn’s voice over the phone.

“I don't have a fucking muse,” Louis groaned into the receiver, “I have been working for weeks on this one, bloody idea, and I don't even have a muse for the damn thing.”

“And this couldn’t have waited a few hours? It’s three in the morning.” Three in the morning is nothing for an artist, Louis thought offhandedly. “So what, you’ve been working on a project without a subject? That seems impossible.”

“It is.” He replied without missing a beat, “But I’m an artist, its what we do.” He went into the kitchen, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled a beer out of the fridge. Hopefully this would work in easing his resentment towards himself and his lack of motivation, or ideas for that matter.

“You try to do the impossible?” Zayn yawned, “Isn’t that supposed to be, I don't know, impossible?”

“I don't see why its so hard to find one,” He ignored Zayns previous question and took another swig. It was like he was in a badly scripted Lifetime movie, with only B-listed actors and a middleschool script. “I’m surrounded by so many possible inspirations, things other people could find a hundred things to paint for, and the only thing I seem to be thinking of is how much a failure I am at this.”

“At what, being an artist?” Something on his end of the phone ruffled, causing static to fill his ears.

He scoffed, “Yes, at being an artist. I fail at it, I mean look at everything that I’ve turned out. I’ve only sold a handful of paintings, most to old people with glasses as thick as my hand, and the only show I was showed in was the mandatory one in college. Lets face it, I’m the Vincent Van Gogh of 2014. Outcasted and poor, just I lack the actual talent he had.”

“Lou, you can't just judge your quality with how one place describes it.” Zayn was right, in a way, that gallery only showed the mediocre art. Yet even that place didn’t accept him.

“Yes I can!” He huffed, “That's the whole point of outside criticism!”

“But the point of it is supposed to be constructive,” He sighed, “Louis, you’re taking that one place’s opinion on your Fading to Light collection too seriously.”

“So what if I am?” He groaned and set the bottle down on the counter, “I want to be acknowledged as good, great even, so what’s so bad about craving approval of places that sell art for a living?”

“Its not about the approval anymore Lou, you know that. You want your art to be famous right here, right now. And we both know it takes time and effort to climb the ladder of success.” More painfully right words from Zayn Malik, Louis thought with a grimace. He was always right.

“But I want to be famous now, because being famous in ten years isn’t going to help me much right now.”

“Lou, all great things take time.”

“But some great things take less time than others!” Louis paused before continuing, “Like you. You got out of college and a year later your first book was published and became New York Best Seller. I want that! I want my name to be a household name, I mean, isn’t that every artists dream?”

Zayn sighed. He was doing that a lot, “Louis, we both know the world of writing is a lot easier than the world of art.”

“And I know that!” He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. “I just want my work to be recognized by more than just the select few. I hate just sitting on the side lines, you know that.”

“I do.” Zayn replied instantly. “And you’ll get there, but only if you do your art for you. Stop thinking about the masses wanting your art, your popularity. Start thinking about what you want to paint, what you think will have the most meaning to you, and you only. From there, we can begin working on climbing the charts.”

“But how do I find what has meaning to me?” He questioned, starting up at the ceiling like some supreme being would give him the answers. But nothing. So, for right now, he was stuck with Zayn.

“Now that, is something that you have to figure out,”He emitted a groggy laugh, “You just have to think about making Louis Tomlinson art, not ‘gallery ready’ art. Step by step, bro, that’s all I can tell you.”

“So then what do I do?” He held a pregnant pause, “To, like, make 'Louis Tomlinson' art?”

“I’m going to place my money on your success lying in your muse.” He could practically hear Zayn’s shrug, “Stupid as it sounds, I think that’s what you need. And I’m not talking a fucking blue bird or some shit you think is adorable, I mean yeah birds are cute, but you can’t make millions off a collection of avians. I think you could make your collection off of a person.”

Louis laughed loud enough to scare himself, “A person Zayn? That’s sounding a little vain, are you hoping that I choose you?”

“Not me you little shit,” Zayn muttered with a hint of a smile, “I’m talking about someone you can’t believe exists. Like someone you see and have to take a double check to make sure you aren’t hallucinating.”

That made his road to answers a little easier, “So I’m looking for Santa Claus?”

“No you twat,” Zayn groaned but laughed nonetheless, “I mean a regular person. Someone who is so memorable you want to paint about them, hell, make a whole collection dedicated to them.”

“I think I can do that.” He shifted so he was looking out the window and onto the street corner, like he could find his muse right now, “Now I just have to find that person.”

“Well, if you need any help with the search for your muse or musette, you know where I will be.”

“Thanks, matr.” Louis pressed himself further into the couch cushions, hoping for that muse-person to magically appear on his doorstep. Or to be absorbed by the couch. Either would work fine right now.

He could practically see the smile in Zayn's voice, “No problem you nocturnal fuck.” And he clicked off.

* * *

Louis was an artist. He had more sheets covering his floors from paint than he did on his bed. His clothes were sorted in slightly painted, very painted, and mobile abstract paintings. He was surrounded by half-finished sketches and barley-started canvases, tubes of used paint acting as his own special minefield.

But right now, this artist was late as fuck.

“Shit, shit, fucking hell.” Louis was about an hour late for his morning shift at the DIY store down the road. He had considered calling in sick, but realised that one more sick day could push him over into the realm of unemployment. So mad-rush to work it was.

“Fuck my life and everything in it.” He mumbled, pulling on his beanie while trying to slip into his vans. Once he established that he didn’t look like death resurrected in the mirror by the door, he hit speed dial and was running out the door.

It rang three times before he was met by the pleasant voice of Blake, the owners son, “Thank you for calling Paula’s DIY and Gardening, this is Blake speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hey Blake, its Louis. I’m just running late today, not trying to skip or anything. I just wanted to make sure that Paula knew.” He turned around, ear to phone and phone to shoulder, to lock his door with the key.

“Uh oh,” Blake laughed, “Late night art session again?” The fifteen-something kid always found Louis' hobby-turned-college-degree something of amusement.

“Something like that.” He cringed, staying up till four in the morning was anything but productive for anything. “I just overslept. I'll be in in ten minutes, tell Paula that I am so, so sorry.”

“Will do, Lou! See you in ten.” And he clicked off.

Louis groane, pocketing his phone was he popped down the last couple of steps. He ran his empty hands over his face in utter frustration. He was almost touching the wooden floor of the main lobby when he collided with another body.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He said, the same time the stranger was rambling off their own apologies.

“My god, don’t be sorry at all, I had my head down.” Oh my god, his voice was deep. Deep enough that you could jump in and swim for miles without hitting any kind of bottom. Deep enough to be visual, even.

“No, it was my fault. I was the one barreling down the stairs with my hands covering my eyes.” He finally had his head on enough to take a look at the stranger he had just mauled.

He was definitely a character to stick in your head, what, with the head of rambunctious brown curls and the pair of neon green shorts that he had on a pair of mile long legs. His eyes seemed to match the intensity of his shorts, although a more murky green than anything fluorescent, and plump lips that were curled into a warm grin. The most striking trait to Louis was probably, no definitely, the number of tattoos that seemed to be growing out of his loose tank top each time he raked his eyes over the stranger

“It’s fine,” The very memorable stranger concluded before sticking out his hand, “‘M Harry Styles, I just moved into 5C.” His smile seemed almost too sincere, almost sarcastic, but Louis grabbed it anyway.

“I’m, uh, Louis. Tomlinson, I live in 4C.” His voice was rushed, “Sorry, again, I’m just late for work and I tend to have tunnel vision.”

“It’s fine, I tend to be too caught up in my own word to realize what's going on around me,” He laughed. Louis wished he could capture that sound and incorporate it into something, what, with its warmth and comfort and just pure happiness, it could probably cure a disease if you could inject it.

Louis didn't even notice that he had zoned out, “I am sorry for running you over, and I would apologize more in depth, but it looks like you need to be getting somewhere. You know, late for work and everything.”

“Yeah, having bad sleep habits tends to leave me late for work a lot,” Louis chuckled awkwardly and tried to remain focused on his job. Which he was currently very, very late for, “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you around.” He moved around Harry and towards the door, glancing at his watch to see he had spent three minutes talking instead of walking. Funny, that.

“Sure, see you around!” Harry even added a pleasant wave, that genuine bastard, before Louis was out the door.

Even in his rush, he still knew, that maybe this Harry bloke was someone that he should keep around for a while.

* * *

It was a couple of weeks before he saw Harry again, and by seeing Harry again, he meant being scared so shitlessly by him that he questioned whether or not his heart was actually working or if he was going to die right then and there.

“Oh my fucking god,” Louis ran his hands over his face as his heart raced, “Didn’t anyone tell you that you can’t just fucking come up behind someone and sit next to them in the middle of the goddamn night? Are you fucking crazy?”

Louis was trying to make sense of the past five minutes, but all that he seemed to remember was how he had screamed like a girl and punched Harry in the eye with enough force to make him fall over and smash his nose into the pavement.

“I didn’t think you would overreact like this!” He exclaimed, his hand cupping his eye while the other held his shirt to his bleeding nose, “I mean really, you couldn’t have heard me coming? It’s completely silent out here!”

Louis couldn't help but cringe at the harsh tone lacing his words. Out of his two encounters with Harry, he could say that the first was probably the best one. Whether it was because he was half nude and sincere or because he wasn’t leaking blood, Louis didn't have to think too hard.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t expect company to just come out of the woods!” Louis shouted reflexively, running his hands through his hair as he tried to just calm himself down. The woods right behind their apartment building, which were almost always deserted, were great for late night walks. But not so great for second-meetings with your new neighbor.

Harry huffed, “Sorry, but I didn’t think I was necessarily quiet. I did trip a couple of times trying to get out here, its not really easy to get too.” Harry groaned again as another wave of pain hit him, wincing as he tried to keep pressure on his nose but not on his eye.

“Oh god,” Louis took a step closer to see the damage in a better light, “You need to go to a hospital or something, mate, I would really hate for you to die from a punch in the face.”

Harry laughed slightly, but stopped when his smile moved his eye uncomfortably, “Okay, yeah, t-that may be good.”

“Here, let me see.” He was now registering that he, Louis William Tomlinson, had just actually, full-on injured someone. And a hot, dude-neighbor someone at that.

Harry complied willingly, stepping even closer to him so that Louis could see the damage he had done in the light of the moon. His hand fell from his face, revealing an already bruising eye. It looked painful, probably more painful than Louis’ bruising knuckles. His nose, on the other hand, was just dripping blood.

Even though he was injured, the way the light caught the contrasting milky skin of his cheek and the deep maroon of the blood was almost hypnotic. If he had thought to bring his notepad, which he hadn’t thought to do since his meltdown a couple of weeks back, he would sketch down what he was looking at right now. Deep, dangerous red mixing with innocent ivory marble. It was worth painting.

Harry’s deep rumbling broke him out of his trance, “So what's the verdict, doc?”

Louis then realized how short he was compared to Harry, which set loose an unnerving feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He tried to cover his blushing cheeks with coughing into his own shoulder, which hopefully worked.

“Well your eye looks bruised, obviously, but the eye itself doesn't look like its bleeding,” Louis tried to regain his composure to look Harry in the eyes again. “Your nose, on the other hand, could be broken. With my strength and all.” Louis tacked the last bit on instinctively, yet scolded himself after because of how idiotic it sounded.

“Hmm.” Harry moved his hand from his side to tweak with his nose, sending their arms touching. Louis tried to ignore the butterflies. “Sorry macho man, but my nose does not feel broken.” His smile was bright, even without any direct source of light, making him look like an angel. A bloodied, black-eyed angel.

“Drat, looks like I’ll just go bench-press my feelings away.” It wasn’t even one of his better jokes, yet Harry laughed like he had finally discovered why the chicken always crossed the road. Even the birds found him obnoxious, awakening with ear-piercing caw’s.

“Okay big boy, calm down before you pop something.” Louis patted the now wheezing boy on the back, trying to not watch the blood dripping onto the grass.

Harry nodded, collecting himself the best he could as he dripped onto the darkened grass. Louis tried to look anywhere else, and found himself scanning over the taller lad’s apparel.

Harry had traded in his neon running shorts, which Louis found very peculiar, for jeans that seemed to have a death-grip on his legs. Not that Louis saw them as a bad thing. His shirt was baggy and white, washed and worn enough that it was turning translucent, which showed his spectacular peck and ab lines while also giving Louis a front-row view to his charcoal tattoos. He had an array of necklaces and a pair of boots that looked older than Louis himself, yet they still worked for him.

Louis shook his head and told himself that he had to look away, “You think you’re game enough to trek back through the woods, or do you need some more time to collect yourself after hearing my horrid jokes?”

“I think I’m ready.” He gurgled, wiping a hand over the trail of blood leaving his nose and onto his jeans. “I think I’m going to have to talk to my Sister to see how to get this blood out.” He motioned to his ruined shirt.

“I can help,” Louis made sure Harry was steady on his feet before starting to walk to the path through the woods and allowing for him to follow, “And before you make any crude comments, I grew up in a house of four younger sisters, so I know the ropes.”

“God, that must have been brutal. Any brothers?” Harry followed willingly, though at a slower pace as he tried to clear his vision.

“Sadly, not yet.” Louis chuckled, “It’s hard trying to play footie with a bunch of girls who only care about nail varnish. But I'm supposed to be getting a little brother, Ernest, soon.” Harry let out a squak as he tripped on a root, but caught himself before hitting the ground.

He grimaced, “I can kind of relate,” He accepted the branch Louis was holding back and they continued to make their way through the thin forest, “I only had an older sister, two years older, so she would always push me around into doing things for her. But my mums not pregnant, so i’m going to remain brother-less.”

“What did she make you do?” Louis threw the question behind him as he kept his eyes on the lookout for roots. “Watch out for the root there.” He pointed to the left.

“Thanks,” Harry stepped over the root, “You wouldn’t believe how many pictures my mum and her have of me in drag. Quite astronomical, just to give a ballpark.”

Louis laughed, “I have quite the many myself, if I’m being honest with you. Being the older brother means you have the willpower of an alcoholic in a bar. Just can't say no.”

“I’m the same way with my goddaughter, Lux.” Louis looked behind him to see a warm smile on Harry’s face.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a godparent?”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’m only 20. Young but old enough, in my book.”

“How did that happen?”

“The mum, her name is Lou like you,” Harry laughed slightly, “We go way back, since I was an awkward teen even. We worked together in a bakery in my hometown, kind of family friends you know? So when she asked me to be the godfather to her daughter Lux, I just couldn’t say no. It helps that the daughter is the cutest little bugger in the world.” His voice was filled with so much admiration that Louis couldn't help by smile.

God damn Harry Styles was going to ruin his life.

“Thats adorable, I can tell you really love her.” Louis held the last branch back for him as they both came out into the road, just behind their apartment complex. In the light, Harry really did look bad, the smile he was sporting was completely opposite of how he should be expressing himself.

“I really do,” His smile grew, “I just love kids.”

“They really are amazing.” Louis said offhandedly, trying to tame his excitement that Mr. Perfect got even more perfect-er.

“Kind of want to be a teacher, actually.” Harry continued, “That’s what I’m majoring in in college, teaching and child management.”

“Where do you plan on starting out when you get out? Like preschool, primary school, where?” Louis asked as they crossed the grass and into the backdoor of the complex.

“I was hoping on working my way up, but I wouldn't’ want to go any older than eight.” Harry shoved his hands into his pocket when he realized the blood that was coming out of his nose had stopped.

Louis paused, “Why not?”

“Well, when they’re older and yours, its fine, but when they're older and not yours, you run into the discipline problem. I don't want to have to fight the kids, I’m extremely passive if you didn’t get the vibe,” He laughed as they both entered the main lobby, Louis holding the door open for them both, “Fighting with the kids is definitely something I never want to do. It makes me want to cry, really, so I think that as long as the kids are willing to listen, I'll be good. Just the older they get, the more they want trouble. And I just don't want that, at least right now.”

“I understand completely. Some kids can be little brats.” They climbed the stairs side by side, their arms occasionally knocking together.

“Some can be,” He sniffed, “But who knows, maybe when I have my own I realize I like the older, high school kids. I’m kind of a leaf in the wind when it comes to things like this. Happiness over income, you know?”

“Oh, do I know.” Louis said quietly, thinking back to how he decided above all logical reasons to major in art history so he could continue with his dream. Some dream that was, he thought bitterly. He was living off a DIY store paycheck, definitely not how he imagined his post-college life going.

They were quiet as they both slowly climbed the stairs, feeling the lethargicness that was common at one or so in the morning. Louis savored in the way his arm would occasionally brush Harry’s, creating a new feeling of butterflies that he didn’t expect.

Harry finally had the thought to look down at his shirt, “Oh my god, did I really bleed this much?” He looked over at Louis with wide eyes of fear.

“‘M afraid you did, mate.” He hummed, “But once we get you cleaned up, you’ll look good as new.”

Harry seemed to stall momentarily, “No, really I can just go to the-”

“No, I insist,” Louis interrupted, “I was the one who fucking nailed you in the face, I would feel even worse if I didn't patch you up as good as I could. Plus I don't think anythings broken, but after all's said and done, if you want to go to the hospital I'll even go with you. I just don't think you want to wait for hours in the ER just to get a bandage.”

Harry seemed to mull over the suggestion as they continued to climb the stairs to their flat on the third floor. “Alright, but as long as you don't kill me or something.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said as they finally arrived on their floor. He dug in his pocket for a moment before pulling out his key. Harry seemed a bit uncomfortable, his eyes shifting to his own door like he was second guessing himself.

“Don’t look so nervous,” Louis addressed him, “Once you see my place, the only thing you’ll be afraid of is the lack of food.” He jimmied the lock a little before the door finally opened, looking back to see Harry’s confusion clearly written on his very abused face.

If Louis had a camera, he would try and take the exact moment Harry registered his flat, and his profession. The way his eyes scanned the place quickly, his confusion turning to amazement in two seconds. Louis stifled his laugh with his hand as he flung off his shoes, watching the separate shoes landing in different places.

“You’re an artist.” He stated, closing the door behind him softly and following Louis in taking off his shoes in the doorway.

“Exactemento.” He smirked, “What gave it away?”

“I think it was the paint tubes scattered in your living room.” Harry laughed, following Louis as they both moved into the kitchen. “Or Maybe the bagillion canvases that seem to be everywhere.”

“It’s not that many.” Louis blushed, “How about you hop up on the counter there so we can fix you up.” He point behind him to the kitchen island as he pulled out a clean flannel to wet for his bloody nose and the first aid kit from under the sink.

“Trust me Lou,” Since when were they using nicknames? “I think bagillion about covers the plethora of paintings you’ve got in this place.” His eyes continued to soak in the details of his flat as he got out everything he needed.

“I think I have about three hundred in this place,” Louis wrung out the wet towel, “Now don't move your face, I’d hate to get bloody water all over you.”

“Will do, Doc.” He smirked, stilling as Louis dabbed under his nose.

They both stayed quiet as Louis cleaned him up, the occasional sniffle breaking the comfortable silence. Louis was trying his hardest not to think about the situation, with Harry literally under his fingertips.

“So, if I go down to the galleries, will I see any of your works?” Harry asked the nagging question after minutes of silence.

Louis snorted, “I wish. Places here aren’t very welcoming to a struggling young artist.”

“Why not?” Louis reached behind him and took a dry cloth to begin drying off the newly-cleaned area.

He shrugged, “I guess it’s because I’m not the white-tie image they want to have. Beats me. All I know is that these paintings are more for me than anyone else at the moment.”

“I like them.” Harry said suddenly,and Louis couldn't help but pausing.

He started again with a small cough, “Well thanks, Harry, but don't feel insulted when I say that you aren’t the majority here.”

“Who cares about them? Art is more for the feeling than the payroll, just look at any good artist. At least from what I know, they started from the bottom and worked their way up.”

“So, what, I’m the inkling of a great artists?” He put the dry towel in the sink and took a step back so Harry could jump down. He did so willingly, wobbling once he got his footing and walked into the other room.

“From the looks of it, you’ll be going places. High places, mind you, with money and fame. You have talent.” He paused once entering the living room, soaking in all the overwhelming details that Louis lived with every day.

“Well thanks,” He muttered and looked around at the scattered canvases. It was really messy, he noticed, with paint rags hanging over the side of the couch and cups of dirty paint water slumped against any straight surface. The room itself smelt kind of tangy, like the acidic paints he used almost everyday and almost always forgot to air out.  Suddenly, Louis was self-conscious about his home.

“I mean really,” Harry bent down and picked up the third piece of his Fading to Light collection that was also seemingly on the top of the pile, “Look at this piece of gold, it feels like i'm outside in winter with the sharpness of the blues, yet in front of a fireplace with the way you use the soft brushes for your warm colors.”

He was spot on, “Well yeah, but who cares about that sort of stuff? Its not modern and its not classic. Hell, I don't even know what it would be classified under.”

“Thats the great thing!” He exclaimed excitedly and brought the cloth closer to his face. If he didn’t look so beat up, it would be similar to a kid on christmas morning. “It’s its own type of painting, god be damned if I know what to call it, but its new and I feel something when I look at it. It may not be what's in right now, but its still good.”

I know, Louis wanted to say. No, he wanted to scream it. He wanted to inscribe it on every surface he came across and tattoo it over his body in bold, black letters. He knew that what he did was good, he knew what he did was professional enough to matter, it was just the recognition from someone whose opinion could get him somewhere that was becoming increasingly hard.

“I guess.” Louis settled for, walking around his couch to look at the same painting with Harry. They shared a stilled moment, both entranced by the hybrid of a painting they were both mesmerized by.

“I really think you could go somewhere with this,” Harry said thoughtfully.

“So do I.” Louis gave a last breath before turning around towards the oven clock. 4:47. He had work tomorrow, or really today, at nine. He didn’t want to kick Harry out, hell, he was enjoying the lad being here as much as he enjoyed Zayn and his constant smoking, but the responsibility he was required to keep never really cared about enjoyments.

“I hate to kick you out but-”

“I know, four in the morning is usually bedtime for most.” Harry interrupted knowingly and turned to walk towards the door with his hands still solemnly clutched behind his back. “I must be keeping you up.”

“Oh no, not at all.” Truth is, Louis thought, four in the morning is my nine at night. “I just have work in the morning…”

“As I have classes…” Harry dragged on, slipping his boots on each socked foot with a new-found slowness.

“Funny thing, responsibilities.” Louis smirked and leaned against the wall to watch him leave.

“That they are.” He got the second boot on and opened the door before turning back towards Louis. “Will I have the pleasure of seeing you again, Tomlinson?”

He pretended to think for a second, although he already knew the answer. The boy was a painting waiting to happen, to not have him around would be sinful, “I think you could see me flitting around here or there.”

“That’s all I ask.” His dimples emerged as his toothy grin grew. “Till next time, then.”

“And hopefully it will be a lot more pleasant than today.”

“Hopefully.” And he closed the door.

 


	2. Chinese and Cake, What's Better Than This?

“So you punched him?” Zayn stuffed another hand of popcorn into his mouth as he hit several buttons on the controller in a failing attempt at bringing up his score.

“Yeah. Pretty square hit too, I might add.” Louis smirked when he rounded Zayns left defender seamlessly. “I ended up having to clean him up and he thought all my art was cool.” He actually said it was amazing, Louis thought smugly as he scored another goal.

FIFA at Zayns was the best way to just let loose on a Wednesday afternoon, or any afternoon for that matter. Louis was off of work for the day, and he was finally getting a chance to tell Zayn face to face about the incident they had named the ‘Awkward Harry Punch’ that had happened two Saturday’s ago.

Zayn huffed and paused the game, “Did he like, file a restraining order or something?” He picked the bowl of popcorn up and brought it into the kitchen without another word.

Louis ignored his question, “Why did you pause it?” He whined childishly.

“Because you’re winning ten to three and its boring now.” He stated.

“Pssh,” Louis stood and followed him in with his empty soda can. “Nah, he didn’t file anything. He was really cool about it, actually.”

Zayn held a finger up to signal he was finishing his food before talking, “From what your telling me he’s super mellow.”

I shrugged, “You would think he’s constantly high but he doesn’t smell like it.” He smells fresh and fruity, Louis thought absently. “Now that I think about it, he’s really weird. Not dungeons and dragons and braces weird, but the kind of weird that dresses up in princess dresses for fun.”

“Some people get off on that, mind you.” Zayn opened the fridge door and began rifling through his limited source of food.

“Yeah, people get off on anything,” He snorted, “But you know what I mean.”

“I guess.” He emerged with a snapple of questionable freshness. “But what’s weird about him? He just likes to go on midnight walks and doesn't look where he’s walking, just like a certain idiot I know.” He sat down on the island stool with a look that translated into something along the lines of ‘I-am-so-done-with-your-shit’.

“He’s weird even when you exclude those details, you shit.” Louis sat down on the adjacent chair, “He has like, a hundred tattoo’s, most of which are hipstery nautical shit. He even wears neon short shorts, like I’m talking stole-them-from-his-sister neon short shorts.”

“Oh, wow, sooo weird.” Zayn said sarcastically as he pushed away the snapple, “Yeah, thats no good.”

Louis laughed, “I knew from first glance that thing was rancid. You really need to go shopping mate, you’re living on vege rines and takeout.”

“Its not my fault I don't know what to get. I usually get Liam to do the shopping.” He shrugged, the previous conversation gone with the wind.

“Where is he anyway, haven't seen him in ages.” Louis thought back, realizing he hadn’t seen good ol’ Liam since June, and it was August now.

“First it was his sisters, he went there to help her move in with whoever she's with now, and now he’s just being with his parents and catching up.” He threw the snapple in the open trash can before patting his pockets for his keys. “Wanna go get shopping now that we’re thinking about it?”

“Sure.” Louis answered and stood, “And why are you being so nonchalant about all of this, he is your boyfriend.”

“I think I know that, Lou,” He scoffs and slips on his shoes as Louis follows, “And just that. I’m his boyfriend. I don’t control where he goes. If he wants to hang out with his mum and dad, thats fine. I just care that he’s not fucking another bloke, or bird even, behind my back.”

Louis nodded, “So then why didn’t you go with him?”

He went and opened the door for them both, “I stayed here, one, because I wanted to, and two, because I had to be here for when you had your inevitable mid-life crisis. Liam understood either way, plus I know he wanted to just be with his parents without me being all clingy and shit.” He turned to lock it before going down the stairs.

“Wise words from Zayn Malik.” Louis snickered as they trotted down the stairs to Zayns car.

“Whatever,” He spared Louis a glance, “You should be thanking me for staying here and not leaving your sorry ass to be alone for a couple months.” They reached the curb where he had parked and climbed into his car.

“Oh, you’re so right.” Louis cleared his throat before putting on a sickly-sweet voice, “Oh Zaynie, thank you oh so much for remaining celebot for me just to make sure I didn't kill myself with a paintbrush. Oh thank you, thank you so much!”

“I hate you.” He groaned as he reversed out of his spot.

“If you could only say that with a little more oomph, I could actually believe you.”

Zayn laughed slightly, “You always thought you were the shit, even back in grade school. Mister ‘I have the sixty-four pack of crayons’, thinking you were king of the hill.”

“But I was. Everyone else had twenty-four packs, I was the gold among a bunch of coppers. Isn’t that the whole reason we became friends? You wanted to be my metaphorical sugar baby to have crayon perks.”

Zayn groaned, “Fucking pretentious ass, no wonder why I felt bad about staying behind from Liam.”

“But I’m your pretentious ass, just remember that.” Louis smiled broadly as Zayn looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Unbelieveable.” Zayn muttered.

He snickered, “You’re telling me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, so what exactly do we need?” Zayn picked a trolley before the automatic doors opened for them to go into the market. The smell of fresh fruit wafted into their noses.

“Well, what do you usually use?” Louis stuffed his hands into his pockets, fully aware that they both looked homeless with the torn-up, lazy style they were sporting.

“I don't fucking know.” Zayn ran a hand through his hair. “I fucking hate this, can we just go home? I can just wait and call Li tonight to get a list from him or something.” Zayn looked around him at the hundreds of products around him, obviously overwhelmed.

“Here,” Louis scooted him out of the way to take lead of the trolley. “We can just go down the aisles and you can pick out what you think you would like to eat. Sound good?” He began pushing the cart down the fresh fruit aisles.

“I guess.” He said undecidedly, but followed regardless.

Louis began looking over the plethora of colored vegetables and fruits as they passed, looking every so often at Zayn who looked like he would enjoy being anywhere else. Zayn wasn’t taking initiative like Louis was hoping he would, so he ended up being the primary one putting things in the cart.

“Oh, cheer up.” Louis said after catching one too many of Zayns ominous glares. “You act like I’m forcing you do this.” He looked over a bunch of bananas before placing them in the cart.

“But you are.” He crossed his arms.

Louis rolled his eyes, “You’re acting like a toddler. A moody toddler, at that.”

“Whatever.” He directed his gaze at some leeks.

“If you hate being participating in the shopping, how about you go wander the aisles while I do the shopping.” I sound like a housewife, he thought bitterly.

“Seriously dude?” Zayn looked back, eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah sure,” Louis thought for a second, “But you’re going to be paying for it all in the end.”

Zayn huffed, “Fine, just keep the stuff you put in pg. No condoms.” He stuck a finger at Louis, like he knew Louis would do it, before saundering off. Moody fuck.

“Moody fuck.” He vocalized, selecting a few apples while watching Zayn round the corner and out of his vision. “I swear.”

He put them in the cart and continued on his way. He was enjoying the semi-silence offered by the store, the bad radio music played over speakers and the random families pushing around, some with kids, some without. It was kind of nice, being able to hum to yourself and chose between apple juice or cranberry while people go past you like you don't even matter. It’s humbling in a way.

He turned down the next aisle, the snack aisle, and begun putting things into the cart. Cheeze-its, cookies, oreo’s and some pretzels. Louis couldn’t tell if he was doing the shopping more for himself when he came over or for Zayn, knowing deep in his heart that Liam would throw it all away when he came home claiming it would ‘junk up their systems and kill them all’. It reminded him how he had gone weeks without a famous Payne Smoothie, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.

He stifled a laugh at the memories of Liams smoothie trials, the green machine one made with all green vegetables to the one called red ruby, made with rhubarb and something Louis couldn’t remember. He turned down the next aisle, fully in his own head, and almost ran trolley-first into another person.

“Oh jesus, sorry mate.” He rushed out, eyes wide and focused on his victim.

“No problem, I was lost in me own head.” The blond said in a very, very thick irish accent. It took Louis a moment to process his words, they were so deeply accented.

“I do that too often for my own good, let me tell you.” He played it off with a pleasant smile. “Sorry ‘bout that though, I’ll be looking up from now on.”

The blond let out a boisterous laugh that got them a few cross looks from some older women, “I’d hope mate, wouldn’t want you running into someone more vulnerable.”

“Please don't even let that be a possibility.” Louis groaned, moving his cart out of the way as he looked over the aisle he was in, the one that held the breakfast foods.

“I'll let you get back to your shopping then.” He gave a small wave. “Have a nice day and all that.”

“You too.” Louis smiled politely before looking for Captain Crunch, Zayns favorite. Or maybe he should just get coco pops just to piss him off. He debated for a few seconds, whether or not to get his favorite or Zayns favorite cereal. If he got his own, he would have even more reasons to get out of his own flat and feel normal and not weighed down with the everling need to paint, but he risked Zayn seeing them in the cart and putting them back for his own. But if he just stuck with Captain Crunch, there was a large enough possibility that he doesn't even realize the new cereal and continues to eat takeout from last nights dinner. Decisions, decisions.

“Hey Ni, I found this kind of- wait, Louis?” He knew that voice. Louis turned, being met by no other than Harry, in yet another ridiculously hipster and attractive outfit. “What are you doing here?” He had a loaf of bread in one hand and a thing of jam in the other with the most puzzled look on his face.

“Well, since its the grocery store, I’m here looking for a new car.” He said without thinking, finally deciding on just Captian Crunch and taking it to put in the cart. “How about you?”

He gave Harry a once over, seeing that the purple of his eye was almost completely faded. His outfit, however, was much more eye-catching. His hair was in a ridiculous head-scarf thing while he wore a simple black shirt, of a thicker material this time so no chest-tattoos were visible. He still, thankfully, had sinfully tight jeans and, not so thankfully, his ratty old shoes.

“Wait,” The blond, Ni as Harry had called him, moved closer as if in disbelief, “This is Louis? Like, The Louis?”

“Uh, yeah?” Harry phrased his words like a question, a blush rising on his cheeks as he put the things he held into the basket Ni had.

“Why am I ‘The Louis’?” He asked wearily. If Harry had told Ni the whole story, which he probably did, Ni wouldn’t be angry at him for punching Harry in the face. Right?

“Niall don’t even-” Harry tried hopelessly.

“You're the one who punched Hazza here in the face!” Louis liked the nickname, just not the hateful tone it was being used with.

“I swear it was a misunderstanding.” People were looking over at them cautiously and Louis couldn't help but feel conscious about all the eyes.

“Misunderstanding? How do ya misunderstand your fist into someones face?” Ni, or Niall now, took a menacing step forward while Harry had a warning hand placed on his arm. His accent was even thicker, however possible, now that he was angry.

“It was fu-freaking self defense mate,” Louis corrected himself, knowing it was a public place and he of all people had to at least try at decency, “I apologized to Harry and he accepted it, I think that’s all that matters in this situation.”

“Yeah, Niall, just drop it.” Harry watched the scene unfold, eyes flickering between them both.

“Like hell if I drop it.” He muttered loud enough for Louis to hear across the aisle. Harry turned even closer and whispered into his ear, causing Niall to give him a betrayed look before throwing his hands up and leaving with the basket to another aisle.

“I am so, so sorry about him.” Harry begun, “I swear I told him you apologized, he just likes to pretend to defend my honour.”

“He does a pretty damn good job at it too, I might add.” Louis let out a breathy laugh. “So, how have you been? I see the eye has faded nicely.”

“Oh yeah,” He blushed slightly, “Peas work really well in helping it out. But I’ve been good, I haven’t been sneaking into any forests at night, if you wondering.”

“Thats good, I would hope that out of all of that you would learn a lesson or two.”

“And that I did.” He angled himself so he was putting all of his weight on one leg, “I'll have you know that I also know how to get blood out of white.”

“Valuable life lessons, Harold.” Harold?

“Actually its just Harry-”

“I realized how much I hate the store.” Zayn had miraculously appeared behind Louis with a bag of crisps in his hands. “Too many fucking kids willing to stick their grubby hands into anything.”

“Oh, uh,” Louis took the crisps and threw them in the trolley, “Harry, this is Zayn, Zayn, Harry.” He gave Zayn a look that hopefully gave across the ‘don't-tell-him-anything’ vibe.

“Hello.” Harry waved, his dimples showing as he smiled.

“Nice to meet you mate, glad to be able to put a face to a name.” Zayn replied.

He raised his eyebrows, “So Louis talks about me?”

“You were the first guy he’s punched since Uni!” Zayn laughed, nudging Louis with his hip, “This guy here is pretty non-violent.”

“Good to know.” Harry smiled, but with less intensity and raw emotion as before. “Well, em, I’ll let you both get back to your shopping. Sorry again about Niall, he’s my knight in shining armor that sometimes puts his helmet on backwards.”

“Well it was nice meeting you, Harry.” Zayn said sincerely.

“Nice meeting you too, Zayn.” He said before saundering off in search of his friend. Louis looked at him for a few moments more before he grasped the trolley handle and continued on his shopping like nothing had happened.

"Well there's that." Louis nodded, going back down the aisle and looking at the various products. He was thankful for the few moments of silence between them both before Zayn started poking at the fresh, Harry-wound.

“So thats him, that Harry bloke.” He started, clearly trying to egg Louis on in any way possible.

“Yep, he was ‘that Harry bloke’.” Louis mocked his accent with surprise accuracy as he threw an instant-oatmeal into the cart.

“You never told me how attractive he was.” Louis glanced over his shoulder to see his eyebrows waggling in his own direction.

He really hadn’t. “I may have mentioned it.”

“No you didn't you lying prick.” Zayn laughed seamlessly, “Even if you had told me, any words couldn’t have given those jeans enough justice.”

Louis smirked, “They are pretty spectacular.”

“Spectacular?” Zayn scoffed, “Spectacular barely even covers the dude. I’m  surprised you didn't climb him like a tree.” He imitated a cat growling, an action that sent blood running to Louis’ cheeks.

“Oh shush it,” He busied himself with looking over the aisles of food, “I don't even know if he’s gay, let alone single. For all I know he’s dating Niall.” He really hoped he was desperately single, so desperate as to choose a poor artist as his lovely beau.

“I don't think he would be wearing jeans that skinny if he was going for any girl. I’m surprised he has room for his dick.” Zayn falls off into a mumbling, thought-provoked silence that Louis was happy to accept.

“You can keep wondering, just help me with these last two aisles and then we can go home.”

“Don't have to tell me twice.” Zayn mumbled.

“Didn’t think I had to.”

 

* * *

 

 

After the week he had had, a quiet Friday night in with a good movie and some shitty chinese was something he was more than deserving of. He had cleaned off his couch in the living room, even throwing a big paint, splattered duvet in the corner of it, and had spent a good thirty minutes on a hunt for his television remote. After all was said and done, with takeout in hand, he was more than ready to sit down and tune out the world around him.

But life has a funny way of working things. Tonight, this ‘funny way’ came in the form of a shrill doorbell splitting the silence.

“Who the fuck-” He stopped himself, standing up with limited grumbles as he trudged over to the front door. Zayn was finally with Liam after weeks of seperation, so he wasn’t it. And Liam was with Zayn, so that took away any logical explanation as to why his shrieking doorbell was slicing his pleasant silence. Except for one.

“Hi.” Harry smiled as Louis cracked open the door slightly. Louis looked him over, his eyes drawn to the empty jar in his hand. “I need some sugar.”

Louis was taken back, “Wait, what? Why?”

“Sugar.” He repeated. “Like for tea and cakes and stuff. Sugar.” He lifted the jar in his hand as an emphasis.

“I heard you the first time,” He glared unintentionally, “But why do you need that now,” He looked over his shoulder at the kitchen clock, “At 10:47 at night?”

“I’m baking.” He seemed so comfortable in the situation, while Louis was more than aggravated.

“If you haven't gotten it through your head, it's almost eleven at night.” Louis tried again, with more patience than he thought he had in him.

“Oh, I know.” His curls bounced as he nodded.

Louis sighed, “That means most people are winding down.” Again, he was surprised at how he was able to be so patient with Harry at a time like this, after the week he had just survived.

“Yeah, which is why I’m baking.” He says casually, “A lemon cake with a light coconut icing. The sugar is needed for the icing.” He held up his jar for the second time, as if Louis could forget it.

“Fucking fucker,” Louis says louder than he meant to, startling Harry where he stood, “I don't want to give you any fucking sugar, as cliche as you're being, some of us had just had a shit week and really need to eat their weight in takeout. And in case I’m being too vague for your incompetent mind to catch on, that someone is me.” His breath was heavy after he finished, and the guilt sat harsh upon him once he saw the look in Harry’s crystal eyes.

“Well geez then, didn’t-didn't have to be mean about it.” He pouted, turning back down the hall to his own home with a posture than read ‘glum’.

“Wait, Harry,” Louis opened the door wider and stepped out into the desolate hallway once he noticed his mistake, “I’m sorry, I just had-”

“A really shit week, I heard.” He said glumly, “Ever thought other’s just had a shitty week too?” He turned around with red cheeks and glossy eyes. Louis’ facade of bitterness feel down as he realized what he had done. Shit. They maintained heated eye-contact for a brief second.

“I can give you your sugar if you still want it from an asshole like me,” He offered gingerly, “If not, I think there’s a girl down the hall in 7C that would be willing to help you out.”

Harry seemed to think about it briefly, “I guess I still need the sugar.” He shrugged.

“Consider it my apology.” Louis led them both back into his flat, the strong smell of lo mein and egg rolls wafting into their noses. They both shuffled into the kitchen, where the takeout was still sitting on the counter.

“I can see what you mean by eating your weight in food.” Harry sniffled, running is ratty-old sleeve over his nose. The redness of his face had gone down, but he still looked a little emotional.

“Oi, don’t poke fun at me. It’s my way of coping with a shitty paycheck and even shittier people.”

“With four things of chinese food?”

Louis glared, “You’re the one baking at eleven at night, you have no room to talk.” He opened his cabinets to look for the bag of sugar he knew he had somewhere. It was finally hitting him how cheesy the scene was, with the trading of sugar between neighbors. So 1990’s film.

He continued to open cabinets as Harry talked, “Sorry about, um, the waterworks. ‘ve always been a bit emotional.” Another sniffle as Louis finally locates the bag. He has to stand on his toes to reach the bag, the heat rising in his face as he feels Harry’s eyes bore into him.

“Any reason for being emotional now?” He reaches for his jar to fill it up as Harry scoots it closer. “Or is it just a character flaw?”

“I just broke up with a long-term boyfriend.” If he wasn’t already done pouring the sugar, he would have definitely dropped the glass.

“Oh really?” Louis’ voice was shaky as he asked.

“Yeah,” He reached for his now full jar, oblivious to Louis’ change of attitude, “I mean, it’s been long distance for a while, so it was kind of inevitable. It’s just actually over now, you know?”

“Can’t say I do.” He lied. His last relationship was Junior year in college for about six months, and that was years ago.

“Oh.” He squeaked.

“Yeah.” He nodded indifferently.

“Okay.” Harry shuffled, clearly displaced in the situation now that their conversation had lulled.

“You know,” He started before he could stop himself, “If you need a friend, a shitty one as you’ve figured, you can always hang out and eat bad takeout with me.”

“Really?” He questioned.

Louis nodded, “I have enough room for two on my couch, and a netflix account begging to be used. So, I mean, if you're game for it.”

“Uh,” Harry looked lost somehow, “I have to finish my cake, so if we could do that in like ten minutes, I would love too.” He nodded hard enough to send some sugar onto the floor, “Sorry ‘bout that, let me-”

“Your good Haz, go tend your cake.” He was already searching for a broom

He looked a little taken back by the nickname, “Um, alright. Ten minutes, then.”

“Ten minutes.” Louis echoes in confirmation, watching as Harry awkwardly moves out of the kitchen and back to his flat’s open door. Louis waits till his door is closed before he goes on a mad dash to find his phone, the broom forgotten.

He swears speed-dial has never been so slow. “Hello?”

“He’s fucking gay.” Louis utters, looking over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone as he moves back into the privacy of his kitchen.

“Wh-what?” Zayn pants.

“Harry. He has, or had, a boyfriend.” He rushes out, impervious to the pants and heavy breaths that fill the other side of the phone.

“That-that’s great Lou, but d-do you think it could, oh god, wait a little? Kind of b-busy.” He groans loudly, a little too loud for Louis to ignore in his current state of disturbia.

“Are you two having sex or something? Did I interrupt?”

“Kind of.” Zayn says while someone, Liam presumably, says a loud ‘yes’ off the line. “Can I call you back?” He breaths into the phone.

“Sure,” He blinks innocently, “Bye.”

“Bye.” And the line fills with the dial tone. He blinks a couple of times, his mind sorting out the thoughts that involve Harry actually being maybe-kinda-sorta gay and Zayn actually answering a call while getting a blowie. He shakes his head from that mental imagery.

He runs a vicious hand through his hair as he looks over his flat, which Harry is going to be in. The Harry that was, until three minutes ago, a star-crossed, unattainable lover. Now he had an actual chance at getting that hipstery, cake-baker and calling him his.

“Oh, shit.” Louis said aloud. His flat was a mess. Well, as mess as it could be given that he didn't have many pieces of furniture, or anything besides the clothes in his room, his crate of paints, and his stacks of canvases. But it was still messy, messy enough that he felt compelled to clean.

"Shit." He muttered, hands going to pick up the books, plates, and notebooks that littered the living room. He must look like a crazy man, the blazing look in his eyes as he tries to carry as many things as humanly possible.

"Um, Louis?" He turns, a plate falling in the process, to find Harry awkwardly holding a bowl and a tray with what he assumed to be a cake.

"Hi." Louis looks down to see the ceramic broken into pieces at his feet. "Just, em, let me put this somewhere." He decided the best place would be the bedroom, so he took an exaggerated step over the plate and into his room where he littered the books onto the ground. He took the only remaining whole plate into took the plate into the kitchen, fully aware of his shadow.

"You know I don't care if your flat is clean or not." Harry begins, "Because I think my-"

"I swear I'm not a pig." He blurts. Shit.

There was an awkward pause, "I never said anything about you being a pig."

"Just, so, like, you know." Louis explains, "I'm usually pretty clean. Well I mean, sometimes, my mum calls me a tornado of mess, but I really don't think it's all-"

He hasn’t felt like this since high school, when he was sitting next to the senior token-boy Josh. Hell, little sophomore him almost creamed his pants while his head was floating on cloud nine being around the bloke. His head felt the same now, but thankfully age had granted him better restraints in the nether regions.

"Any particular reason why you're blabbing?" Harry looks down at his hands where he still had his cake and bowl. "And where should I put this?"

He ignored the first question with a slight blush, "What is it?"

"Just some cake." He shrugs. "I would just end up eating it all by myself anyways, I thought we could share it. You'll just have to dip the cake in the icing. 'Cause if I put it on the cake it would, like, melt."

"Oh," Louis blinked and all thoughts of Josh disappeared, "Well alright. Cake and chinese for tonight then."

"Thats the plan." Harry said with a crooked smile.

"How about you put it on the table in front of the couch, get yourself comfy and all that I just have to clean up that broken plate." He went to the side of the fridge where he kept his broom as Harry shuffled into the living room.

"Any movie in particular we are going to watch?" He says from his spot on the couch. When Louis enters from the kitchen, he sees that Harry had spread himself out over the whole expanse of the couch.

"I was thinking we could make a joint decision on that." He began sweeping the plate into the dustpan as Harry spread the duvet over his body.

"Cool." He nodded absently.

Louis smiled, "Very." He finished his sweeping and brought the pan back into the kitchen. "Are you going to want some chinese too?"

"Please." Came his echoed response. Louis nodded, getting two forks while balancing the four containers in his arms as we went into the living room.

"How about we pick and choose what we want from the containers. That alright? Saves on dishes and all that” Harry instantly moved his legs so that Louis could sit. He tried his best to hide his smirk as he plopped down, indian style, onto the cushion. “Here’s the lo mein.”

“Thanks.” He popped open the container and stabbed his fork into the noodles. It wasn’t until he had his mouth full of food that he started to talk again. “This is really fucking good.” Which sounded along the lines of ‘thif if weawy good’.

“I know.” He took a fork full of rice. “It’s this little shop down the way that my mate Liam found. I don't know how he found it, but I am so thankful he did.”

He swallowed, “Is it that ‘Oriental Jade’ place?”

“Thats the one!” He stuck his fork in Harry’s direction excitedly. “Wait till you try their egg rolls. Amazing!”

“My mate, the one you met at the store, Niall, loves them. Like, could marry them without any complaint. It’s the one part of him that isn’t pure blood irish.” Harry snickers before his eyes snap forward to the telly. “Wait, go back, I want to see that show.”

He clicks back till he lands on a show called Bob’s Burgers, “This show?”

“Yes!” He laughs, “It’s an ace show, Niall and I watch it all the time.”

“Well it looks like we’re watching it then.” He hits the button and the show begins playing.

The intro starts and Louis barely has enough sense to not squak at how outrageously stupid it looks. What, a boy with a keyboard that woof’s when he touches a key? A girl with pink bunny ears? He turns to say some snarky comment, but when he sees how captivated Harry is by the theme music, his words die in his mouth.

Harry looks adorable, cocooned in a duvet while spooning noodles into his mouth with his eyes glued on the screen. He never noticed how his curls flared out in such a way that framed his ears in soft brown, or how his lashes stuck out and gave his evergreen eyes a canopy of accentuation.

Louis realized he could paint those dark lashes with his wearing, flared brush, using a dark sienna maybe, and how his curls could be downed in a russet brown, maybe some burnt sienna accenting his darker tuffs. His face would be such a light ivory, cheeks dusted ever so lightly in a red pigment while his lips would shine with the new coat of terra cotta red. Louis was plotting out the palette to a boy he barely knew, but given he already had Zayn sketched down on the third day of actually knowing him, two months is nothing.

"Isn't the show just hilarious?" Louis was brought out of his artists haze by Harry’s obnoxious giggling.

“I’ve seen better.” Louis could have laughed at how quickly Harry’s eyes shot over at him.

“How?” He sounded personally offended, “This show is the perfect blend of sarcasm, fart jokes, and horse obsession. How can you not be enticed by it? It’s an art!” He placed his now empty container on the table and brought the cake and icing into his lap.

“This is no where near an art.” Louis scoffs, tearing off a piece of his own cake as the ending credits roll.

“Excuse me?” Harry could have been so much more convincing if he wasn’t wearing a large smirk. “And what do you know about art?” He stuffed the cake into his mouth.

Louis put his piece into his mouth, “I don't know, an art degree?” The cake was surprisingly good, but he does live off box-mix cakes and half off bakery deals. “This is really good, Harry.”

He blushed but continued, “That’s just one step to being a pure art criticizer.”

“Says the one with an educational degree.” Louis bites back, stealing another bit of cake.

“Exactly.” Harry nods with false confirmation. “I’m here to teach today’s youth that you can’t be an art critic until you have an art degree and a tattoo on your back devoted to- to like, I don't know, Van Gogh.”

Louis paused with the cake halfway to his mouth, dripping with icing, “How the hell did Van Gogh get into this conversation?”

He stalls, “You’re going to hate me. I just know it.” He let out a breathy laugh.

“Hate you?” Louis’ brows furrow, “Why would I hate you for bring Van Gogh up?”

He averts his eyes, “You would have to hate me once I told you that I-” He stuffed cake into his mouth abruptly.

“You what?” Louis pestered with his eyebrows raised.

“That the only artist I know is Van Gogh?” A blush forms on his cheeks as he hides himself behind another exceptionally large piece of cake.

Louis is stunned into silence.

“Well? Are you going to call me pathetic?” He says once he swallowed.

Louis thinks his words over, “So you’ve never heard of Rembrandt?” Harry shook his head.

“Salvador Dali?” Another shake of the head.

“Paul Klee?” He shook his head again.

“Please tell me you’ve heard of Monet? Please.”

“Am I allowed to lie?”

Louis wanted to scream, “How can you not be educated in art history? Those are like, the biggest names in art history. How do you even know about Van Gogh at this point?”

“Doctor Who episode, the one with Amy and number eleven.” He shrugged and dipped his piece of cake into the icing. “Art wasn’t very big in my home town, we were more english literate people, you know?”

“Sadly,” Louis sighed, “My town was big on english too. I was decent at it, more of a drama dude if we’re being honest.”

“Drama was super small in Holmes Chapel.” Harry nodded to himself, “I don't think we had more than five plays in my whole time there.”

“Thats sad.” He stated. “We did grease once, I was Danny Zuko and I rocked it.”

Harry snorted, “Sure you did. Had all the babes and everything, right?” He snickered.

“Oh, stuff it.” Louis looked up at the screen and saw that it was awaiting the command to continue, “Do we want to continue watching?”

“Why the hell not? It's great at distracting me from my actual problems.”

Louis finally remembered why Harry was here in the first place, “Do you want to, like, talk about it? I can give some pretty irrelevant advice, at least thats what Zayn says.”

“Nah,” He shook his head of disarrayed curls, “I’d rather just watch and forget, if that’s okay.” Another piece of the now dwindling cake was stuffed into his mouth.

“Thats fine with me.” Louis spared him one glance out of the corner of his eye before pressing the button to start the show.

“Thanks.” Harry tucked the blanket even further under his chin.

“Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> This will be continued, I just need an overall opinion before figuring out if its worth continuing or if I want to spend time editing and writing my others.


End file.
